


A Wicked Cool Musical Evening

by alltoseek, JessamyGriffith



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/pseuds/JessamyGriffith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The famous meeting in the octagonal music-room of the Governor's House in Port Mahon, told from Stephen's POV as well as Jack's, as if they spoke like California surfer dudes/homeboys circa 1980's. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wicked Cool Musical Evening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feroxargentea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/gifts).



> For a [prompt](http://perfect-duet.livejournal.com/418887.html?thread=5364551#t5364551) on the [2011 Aubreyad kinkmeme](http://perfect-duet.livejournal.com/418887.html) on [perfect_duet](http://perfect-duet.livejournal.com).

♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

It was a wicked cool night.

A chill in the air gave an edge to the warm Mediterranean evening. The breeze drifting in through the open windows of the Octagonal Room of the Governor's Mansion brought hints of sweetness from the blossoming spring, as well as a brief respite from the increasing heat generated by the numerous bodies gathered within.

An evening spent inside the flash crib, even amongst such a herd of philistine posers as roamed throughout Hun-ruled Limey-infested Port Mahon, was hella welcome to Stephen. A spree of tight harmonies was a fresh diversion from his typical pastimes of late – delightfully choice as they'd been at first – of scrounging the local wastes for edible plants, even insects; or on the harsh cold wet nights, nursing a cuppa or a pint of the local brew like it was his mother's tit until he was bounced, before trawling for a dry pad under a bush or beside a leaning boulder.

A proper civilised evening – notwithstanding the stares of the eurofag footmen, eyeing him from his scratched kicks up ripped stockings past his grungy coat to the unpowdered wire of his wig – sneers quelled by his practised reptilian glare. A physician's wig denotes one slick mofo who knows his shit, and hence worthy of utmost props from knuckle-draggers, powder or no. Disdaining footmen, jabbering roast beefs, funky overperfumed rooms – none of this could steal Stephen's sunshine at the prospect of a fine evening of some slammin' tunes.

All in all, a righteously wicked cool night.

Until that lard-ass lieutenant sat next to him.

Of all the seats – Stephen knew he should have selected a chair along the side, out of the way. But he was tired of living on the edge, lying low, hiding from creditors and elegant society alike. Even broke and out on his ass, he had his rep as a physician and gentleman; he refused to be dissed, and he was damned if if he wouldn't roll up and stake his own place.

He'd planted himself front and center, the better to take in the tunes away from the yammering yahoos at the back of the room. Then this doughboy of a Royal Navy doofus had to sit next to him; no doubt to flatter the commandant's skanky ho of a wife, who was to get down and funky on the harp later in the bash. Seemed the mouth-breather was looking to get the jump on the rest of her johns by frontin' his hot stuff in her face, cocking his brim and cruising for some booty. As if his height and girth couldn't be seen from the moon! The sweetest piece of eye-candy in the joint – all the chicks and even some of the cocks were eating him up. Not to mention how the light from the multitude of candles glittered off the shining gold of his hair...

 _Get real_ , Stephen told himself. _Next you'll be mooning over the sapphire blue of his eyes_. The towering hottie was buff, gleaming from the polished brilliance of his fuck-me buckled shoes to the sparkle of his eyes, joy beaming from his face. From every abundant ounce of him – secure in his stylin' uniform, his position in the Navy, he was everything Stephen was not, and however much Stephen wouldn't mind tapping that, to the sailor the physician was invisible – a meagre stunted ill-fed ill-looking figure even if his bright blue eye had ever copped Stephen's presence at his side.

♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

It was legit. This place was happening. Homeboys everywhere. Jack was majorly trippin'. His fine-ass girl was there, and later she would be playing some awesome bitching music. Tonight was the bomb.

Jack's swell of joy rode the tides through the first movement of the Locatelli, then ebbed away as he turned to his neighbour to compliment the bitchin' quartet's totally awesome performance. The words “that was some gnarly gonzo playing” died on his lips as he received the full force of a psycho glare from hell shot by impossibly pale eyes burning in a startlingly white face. Jack did not catch the exact words harshly muttered to him, but the diss was clear enough.

His brain, having to do a clear one-eighty from ebulliently cheerful to hostilely insulted, had formed no better come back than, “Yo' momma,” but even that had to be swallowed as the first notes of the second movement sounded.

Jack fumed even as his ears followed the dialogue between 'cello and viola. “Half a beat ahead – as if!” He darted glances at the dweeb who had so thoroughly harshed his mellow. The punk wore cheesy shoes and a totally bogus coat. His lame wig was like grody to the max. His whole demeanor screamed gag-me-with-a-spoon eurotrash wannabe. Jack was shitting bricks to say, “What's your damage, dude? Take a chill pill. Or eat shit and die, mofo.” But he choked back those words as well. He'd be in deep shit with Molly if he had a cow in the middle of her up-to-now tubular evening. It was clear she was stoked with all the hoi-polloi at her shindig, and her own radical piece to perform later.

Jack determined to put aside his downer and groove on the melodies. The digs were so crowded he could not exchange his seat, but as he had zoned on the douche up to now he figured he could do so again. When his narc of a hand snaked up to dance the beats he shoved it firmly beneath his knee. When the thoughtless scumbags in the back of the room chattered too loudly he swung 'round to shoot daggers at them, chilling his feelings just a little. “Shit happens,” he reflected, and the quartet swept him back into the music as they nailed the final movement.

♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

With a satisfied smirk Stephen left the Governor's mansion. His name! He got that buff hottie's name! And a date for tomorrow morning! He found himself humming as he wended his way towards tonight's accommodations, but it was not a theme from the Locatelli:

_I like 'em big an' ... STUPID_  
_I like 'em big an' ... REAL DUMB_

♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end lyrics from eponymous song by Julie Brown (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vEU_5lVjRFQ)


	2. And Then Like a Totally Bitchin' Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning in ValleyGirl!Stephen first-person POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> podfic of this chapter available at [soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/alltoseek/valleygirlstephen)

Yeah, so then I went to sleep with like that song still stuck in my head. And when I woke up there was like this giant like two-foot toad sitting there right in my face. So yeah, I mean it was kinda cute but it was like right there. And it so totally reminded me of like that hottie from the night before. And then I was kinda bummed out, cause I was like, would I ever even see him again? I dunno, you know? So I got up and peed on some ants, who just went on with their ant business like they didn't even care. Probably didn't, stupid ants anyway. Whatever. And then I got the mouse out of my wig – she'd made it like her crib for the night, which was super cute 'n all, but yo, mouse, I needs mah wig, you know? 

So then I popped into town to see if there were any notes for me – you know, like moolah-kinda notes? Cause things were getting kinda tight. And I had no idea, but there he was! The toad! Not the ginourmous toad I'd slept with – well, I didn't sleep with it, you know, it was just kinda there, but anyway, it was that big fat blond hottie! The one who was kinda like a toad on crack, but really super cute! He was right there, crossing the street like not a care in the world, sporting this shiny new gold thing on his shoulder like he doesn't have to sleep with toads and pee on ants and hope every day for a note with maybe some bucks in it, cause noooo~, he's got everything going for him and money just to throw around on spiffin' up his duds. 

So I put on my best mean I don't give hoot kinda face like I enjoyed looking like I washed with the pigs that morning, cause like I wash with pigs every morning cause that's just my thing. And I didn't think he'd even noticed me and that was alright, cause I didn't want to really, you know, fight him. I mean I could've, and I would've, I've beat people up before, it's not that big a deal, but I don't really like it, you know? Not my thing, really. 

So he's all smiling from ear to ear and giving off this glow like the sun rises and sets on him, like maybe it does, what do I know? And I'm all like, yeah, whatever. Mindin' my own business. Not gaping or gawping at him or nothing. And then he actually shouts at me - “Yo dude! I mean – Mr -uh- Mr Maturin!” “Mr” - as if! Is he blind? Can't he see the wig? They don't call it a physical bob for nothing! Too caught up in his own shiny gold things and uniforms and his own money and power and shit not even paying any attention to anyone around him. But still cute, damn. But anyway, there he was apologising to me, and that was like so sweet! He's going on and on about how he'd been so toad-like, and I'd been thinking the same thing! So I don't even correct him about the yo! doctor thing, and instead I ask him to go for chocolate with me. Not cause I'm hoping he'll spring for it, cause that's really rude, you know, askin' someone on a date and then making them pay, but by then I was really hoping there'd be a little something maybe waiting for me. Cause even more embarrassing on a date is being made to washes the dishes afterwards. Which I really hoped they wouldn't, cause I don't care how poor I am, I'm still a physician, I don't wash the dishes. Like they need washing anyways, when you're just gonna put chocolate back in 'em again. So anyways, when I ask, he's all like, omigod, like totally, that'd be awesome, like he'd never heard of hot chocolate before, like they'd just invented breakfast or something.

And so we pop over to Joselito's and the first thing that waiter ho there does is wave his finger at me, and I'm all like fuck you, get the chocolate and shut up. Except I don't actually say the fuck you, cause, hey, date, you know, trying to give a good impression here, and I don't really swear that much anyways, just when you gotta, you know?

And so then we're chatting, and it's really cool, and the chocolate's good, cause they got a rep to maintain, even if I can't pay, maybe they think the gold-wearing dude's gonna pay – oh, which he explained to me, he just got promoted, good for him. Glad somebody's worth is recognised. Even if he can't tell a hoopoe from a hole in the ground. Turns out he's a musician too, really into the music, so that's good, I guess, even if it does make him all swaying and bopping along like it's a disco or something. And the best part is that then he asked me to dinner! So totally awesome! I mean, REAL FOOD! And another date! I don't care about not having spiffy duds and no money, I saw the hoopoe and the hottie, this is gonna be a great day, you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blame feroxargentea


End file.
